The Children Of The Mist

by Jenny Brigalow

  Shelley’s hands shook. ‘Oh God. Is she okay? Where is she? Is she coming home?’

  ‘She’s fine. She’s in Argyll. No, she’s not coming home yet,’ said Zest, carefully. But not carefully enough. Shelley stared at him intensely. Clifford’s fingers beat a frenetic rhythm on the beleaguered bottle. Zest tried to think how to frame his thoughts without creating more stress for the pair.

  Shelley sat down again. ‘Has she found them?’

  Zest nodded. ‘Yes.’

  Shelley stared out over the river. ‘Does she like them?’

  Zest answered honestly. ‘I’m not sure.’

  Clifford spoke. ‘Why, what did she say?’

  Zest remembered her cautious pauses. And then the abrupt disconnection. ‘She didn’t say much. It’s just that she seemed…a bit suspicious. And we got cut off. Probably just the line…’

  Silence enveloped them. You didn’t have to be Shakespeare to imagine the impact of his words on the already over-wrought couple.

  Shelley picked up her half-empty glass and swallowed the contents. She gazed at Zest so hard he felt as if she were wiggling through his eye into his brain. ‘Do you think she’s in danger?’

  Zest swallowed hard. It was a question he didn’t want to answer out loud. But only the truth would do. ‘Yes,’ he said.

  They both seemed to shrivel and shrink before his eyes. He felt like crap and wished he’d lied.

  Shelley seemed to rally. ‘Zest, we’ve been talking about this, Clifford and I, and we think you should go to Scotland.’

  Zest was not surprised. ‘But Shelley, I promised Morven I’d stay here and keep an eye on things.’

  Shelley shook her head. ‘Zest, there’s nothing to keep an eye on. Not so much as a muffled fart. It’s like…it never happened. No word from anyone except her school. No threats. No questions. No follow-up from the hospital. Not a dickie bird from the police. I mean — can you explain that?’

  Zest couldn’t. It worried him too. Gnawed away at him like a caterpillar on a leaf. Really, Shelley was just voicing all his own concerns. Why hadn’t there been more activity? Why had ‘they’ packed up and gone away? It didn’t make sense. And then a horrible thought shafted him. What if ‘they’ were on to Morven after all? Maybe staking out the castle, watching and waiting, at that very moment while he sat around drinking beer. He felt cold and his bones ached with fear. But — what if he was wrong and the minute he skipped town ‘they’ swooped on Shelley and Clifford. How the hell would he explain that to Morven? Quite simply, for the first time in his life, Zest didn’t know what to do. He sighed and looked at the couple waiting patiently for his decision. ‘What if I go, and I’m wrong?’

  Shelley looked at her husband. ‘What if you go and you’re right? We’ve agreed that if you won’t go, then we will. We can’t just sit here and do nothing.’

  Zest didn’t doubt her for a moment. It certainly simplified matters. ‘Okay, I’ll go. But Dog stays. In fact, I think it would be best if you and Dog leave. Hop in the car and just go. Don’t plan. Don’t pack. Just do it.’

  Shelley bristled like an agitated echidna. ‘We can’t just — go. We’ve got responsibilities.’

  Zest shrugged. ‘If you won’t go, then neither will I.’ It was a lie, but they wouldn’t know that. Instinct told him that they should be on the move.

  Clifford nodded. ‘Alright. I have a cousin who’s been offering us use of his yacht for ages. I think it’s time we took him up on the offer.’

  Zest was impressed. ‘Can you sail?’

  Clifford grinned. ‘No. But Shelley can.’

  Shelley pulled a rye face. ‘It’s been a while.’

  Zest had to be content with this plan. Sounded as good as any. Maybe better. The ocean was a big place. He looked at his watch. ‘Soon as you two skedaddle, I’ll be off.’

  ‘How are you going to get there, Zest?’ said Shelley.

  Zest grinned. ‘I’m gonna hitch a ride. Same as Morven.’ Only difference being, he wouldn’t bother with the paperwork. ‘If I get to Edinburgh or Glasgow, that’s close enough.’ For a brief moment he remembered what Morven had said about her encounter with the young werewolf. Meg MacGregor. One of his kind. Ruthlessly he pushed down the tidal wave of excitement that surged to his head. It wasn’t time.

  Fifteen minutes later the car doors slammed. Zest watched until Dog’s mournful face disappeared around the bend. He’d sent them away armed with Elvis’s email and his mobile number. Satisfied he’d done all that he could for Morven’s family, Zest returned inside, packed his bag and left. He caught the twelve forty-five train. There was a sense of relief in being on his way. Each station stop brought him a step closer to Morven. His pulse chased the spinning wheels. He couldn’t wait to see her.

  Chapter 44

  When Morven came down to the great hall again, she was overtly aware of the mobile phone nestled in her back pocket. Everyone, excepting Caractacus, had already assembled, weapons in hand, blood lust thick as porridge in the air. She joined them, aware that one of them had been lurking outside her bedroom door. Listening. She suspected dear cousin Celeste. But really, it could have been any of them. All in all it seemed wise to simply drop her phone out in the forest somewhere. That way she could deny all knowledge of the incident if challenged. Relieved to have made a decision, Morven focused on the job at hand.

  ‘Catch,’ said Calix, and tossed over her bow.

  Morven caught it. Her fingers welcomed the smooth polished shaft. ‘Thanks,’ she said.

  ‘Oh, here, you’ll need these too,’ said Calix and held out his hand.

  Morven went to him and took the small box. There were half a dozen arrows. Black, sleek and feathered. She fanned the feathers with a finger. Very, very faintly she could smell duck. She smiled to herself. Dead duck. Yum.

  Eddie shouldered a rifle. ‘Everyone ready?’

  There was an enthusiastic round of assent. They all hurried out of the room and into the night. Instinctively Morven looked up. The sky was clear and, to her eyes, starved of stars. The moon hung in the sky, a slender sickle of light. And Morven thought of Zest. No Wolfman tonight. Maybe she’d be home in time for the next full moon. The thought lightened her mood. Her stomach growled.

  Beside her, Eddie laughed. ‘You hungry?’

  Morven smiled, again aware of the man’s innate charm. ‘Starving.’

  ‘We’ll soon fix that,’ said Calix. ‘Ready?’

  Morven turned and looked back at the house. ‘Isn’t Caractacus coming?’

  Celeste snorted. ‘Cracked-acus is pathetic. Believes there’s no excuse for bloodletting anymore. You know, now we’ve established the bank. He’s such a pussy.’

  No one seemed inclined to disagree, so Morven assumed they were all of a mind. In this case, Morven couldn’t help but agree with the majority. Memories of her hunt with Zest still thundered through her veins. Cousin Caractacus could keep his stuffy ideals. Morven was all for a good ‘bloodletting’. The sooner the better.

  The Mater inhaled loudly. She pointed south. ‘That way. A couple of kilometres, no more.’

  Without further ado they set off. Feet skimming over the powdery surface of newly-fallen snow. Morven was happy to fall in behind. Eager to learn. Anxious not to do anything wrong. Soon the wide expanse of the loch was out of sight. The forest closed around them, bare branches silhouetted against the sky. Moon shadows swayed gently in the breeze. Anticipation crackled in the air like ozone. No one spoke. They climbed steadily upward for a long time and then crested a great hill. Mountains loomed to the north and the west, but the pack moved unhesitatingly into a valley nestled at their feet. The trees thinned and gave way to open land through which a stream threaded like a piece of black velvet. Morven could hear it chuckle over its stony bed.

  The Mater stopped and lifted up a cautionary hand. She pointed and Morven strained her eyes to see. The scent came first. Then she spotted a herd, camped out low in the valley. Some seemed to sleep, but a stag st
ood sentry. Even as Morven’s eyes rested on his broad back, he flicked his head high. Alert. Wary.

  In silent agreement the Campbells raced down the hill. In a flash, the herd roused and headed for cover. Morven felt like she was on fire. A great burning ball of hunger. The desire to kill consumed her and she forgot her earlier caution. This was something she could do without any instruction.

  Somehow it became a race. For the deer, a race for life. For Morven, a race to draw first blood. It was the first time she’d pitted her power against her own kind. For a short time they all bunched together, no one individual able to forge out of the mob. But then Calix spurted forward. He looked back and smiled in a superior manner which pricked Morven like a pin. She gathered herself together and pushed. In a split second she was beside him; he glanced at her and, with a look of grim determination, moved ahead. Morven could feel the herd of deer beginning to panic. She primed her bow and raced past her cousin.

  The deer were surging up a rocky slope, desperately trying for the cover of the pine forest. Resin mixed with the musk of the beasts and the super-charged chemical compounds of the Vampyre. Without conscious effort Morven picked out the prime member of the herd and took aim. But as her finger closed upon the trigger, something jostled at her concentration. A movement in the needled forest. A familiar scent that drew her like the river to the sea. And then she saw it. Eyes blazing amber in the dark; its sharp scent hit her like a hammer. Exultation flooded her. She had been right — there were wolves, here in the Scottish highlands. And then, as she turned to share this amazing revelation, excitement turned to blind panic. For while it was clear that the Campbells were aware of the uninvited guest, they did not seem to share her sentiments.

  Morven did not think. ‘No!’ she screamed. Mustering every atom of strength she possessed, she launched herself toward them. A single shot rang out as her feet smashed The Mater between the shoulder blades. They both landed in a jumble of limbs on the freezing ground.

  Morven struggled to free herself. She was just scrambling to her feet when a pair of hands locked around her waist. Vaguely, she became aware of The Mater rising up, brushing snow from her clothes. For a moment Morven felt a pang of regret. But then an arm slid around her throat. Oxygen deprivation did not improve her mood. Any thoughts of contrition were effectively erased. As someone grabbed roughly at her left leg, a ruby red rage imploded inside her. Primeval outrage kicked in and she went crazy. ‘What the hell are you doing? Let me go!’ she said, each word a clove of acidic assault.

  As the Campbells swarmed in around her, Morven went berserk. In the struggle, a piece of pale flesh foolishly pressed against her cheek. In a flash Morven whipped around and sunk in her teeth. Blood spurted and she hung on like a pit bull terrier. Fury gave way to a flash of pure, unadulterated hatred. She shook her head furiously and felt the muscle go taut and tear. And she felt a thrill of satisfaction. But, it was short lived; the arm around her neck tightened and the red gave way to black spots. Her scalp began to burn as someone laboriously pulled at her hair. Fists pummelled and feet kicked. Despite her determination she had to come up for air.

  As her lungs sucked in crisp, cold mountain air she could taste the blood. Hunger clawed at her belly. Frustration and fear fought for pole position. She shivered, suddenly cold. As she re–oxygenated, Morven fixed onto the Campbells who leaned over her, anchoring her body to the freezing ground. Calix straddled her knees, Celeste pinioned her right arm and Eddie her left. She could not see The Mater whose hands manhandled her hair and neck.

  She did not speak but wished she could spit fire.

  Celeste spoke first. ‘Didn’t I tell you? The reports were right; she’s a dirty little lycan lover.’ She positively gloated.

  Morven felt something subside within her chest. Alarms bells rang. Lycan lover. Everyone knew what a lycan was. Just another word for werewolf. A vision of Zest riding the train engulfed her. And she realised she’d made a terrible mistake. She should never have come to Scotland.

  Celeste’s face screwed up in disgust. ‘Look, the little skank can’t even deny it! Eew.’

  Her cousin Calix looked down at her and his lip lifted in disgust. He spat in her face. The warm globule slid slowly down her cheek. Morven spat back with deadly accuracy. Straight in his eye. She laughed. A brittle sound like snapping ice stalactites. But it was pure bravado.

  Celeste giggled, which earned her a venomous look from her brother. Celeste smiled dreamily down at Morven. ‘Well, soul sister,’ she whispered, ‘where is your mangy companion?’

  Morven glared up at her. ‘Go swivel on a screwdriver, sister. ‘

  Celeste slapped her. The sound echoed eerily around them, as if the trees were applauding with skeletal, twiggy hands.

  Morven looked at Eddie, who so far seemed relatively neutral. At least his grip on her limbs lacked some of the enthusiasm of his family counterparts. ‘Eddie, this is crazy. This morning I’m being inaugurated into the business and the bank, and now I’m being assaulted. You’ll forgive me if I’m a tad confused.’ Morven figured she’d nothing to lose by playing dumb. ‘Look, I’m sorry. I got a dog at home. I love him. I don’t want to kill dogs. Not even Scottish ones.’

  Eddie’s black eyes dilated for a moment. His lips pursed. He shifted back onto his haunches for a moment and his eyes wandered up and down the length of her body. ‘Aaah, Morven, how I want to believe you.’

  Morven felt a spark of hope.

  ‘But,’ Eddie continued, ‘I think in this case that it may pay to err on the side of caution.’

  The spark died.

  The Mater spoke for the first time. ‘Morven, perhaps a little solitude may help you to reflect on where your loyalties lie.’

  Morven stared defiantly around at her audience. ‘I freakin’ doubt it, you bunch of pointy-toothed perverts,’ she said emphatically. A hand flashed. Pain swathed her body from tip to toe. And the world flickered…and went out.

  Chapter 45

  When Morven awoke, she wished she hadn’t. Everything hurt. Even breathing. At first she couldn’t work out where she was. It was so dark. Even her Batgirl eyes were blind. She thought about sitting up, but discarded the idea instantly. She felt like junket. Instead, she tried to recall her last waking moment. Something stirred in her brain. Amber eyes. Not much help. Besides, thinking made her head throb like a V8 engine. She let out a small groan and lifted her hand to her head. But her hand didn’t seem able to cooperate. Too heavy. She tried again. Same thing. Confused, she let her hands drop back down. As she did she heard a dull metallic clicking. And, more distantly, a sullen, drip, drip, drip, of water.

  And then she knew where she was — and she wished she didn’t. Again she lifted her hand and the heavy links clattered and clinked and the cold bracelets around her wrists bit in. Fear wedged in her throat like a fish bone. Beneath her, the stone floor felt cold despite the fact she still wore her thick jacket and jeans. The air was cold and damp. Slightly salty. ‘Help!’ she shouted. Even though she knew that down here, deep beneath the castle, no one would hear. ‘Someone, please help me!’ But the only response was a deep, angry rumble in her belly.

  Morven took in a deep breath, held it, and let it slowly back out. Mustn’t panic, she reminded herself. Someone would come. If they wanted her dead, she would be. And then her heart plummeted to her stomach with a sickening thump. What a blithering bloody idiot she was. She ran the sentence through her head again. If they wanted her dead, she would be. Emphasis on they. What if the Campbells were the illusive they? It all made sense. After all, like Zest had proffered, they had to be rich, powerful and secretive. Who fit the bill better than her illustrious birth family? Who better than the powerful vampyre clan with their money and global company and super bat powers? Her brain buzzed into overdrive. It would explain the death of Zest’s family, if you just extended the historic aspects of the clans’ feud.

  Zest. The blood in Morven’s veins froze. She felt as if she would vomit as an insidious
idea blossomed in her brain. Oh God. What if this weren’t about her, Morven Smith, at all? What if this was all about Zest? Some obsessive component of the attempted genocide of his race? Even as the thought formulated, Morven sensed that she was close to a terrible truth.

  She shifted. Uncomfortable. There was something making a bedsore on her bum. And then it clicked. It was her mobile phone, still in her pocket. Everything rushed back. She’d gone hunting, seen the wolf and ended up having fisticuffs with the family. Such as they were. None of it was very comforting. In fact, all in all, things looked pretty grim. To add insult to injury, Morven’s insides spasmed and gurgled in hungry protest. This served as an unwelcome distraction. Just how long had she been asleep? Had it been minutes, hours or days. What time was it? There seemed no way of knowing. The only thing that was clear, was that she had to get out of there. And warn Zest.

  She took another deep breath and sat up. Her head felt as if it floated in space. Still, at least she had a head. Tentatively she reached out with her hand. She touched a rough wall. Carefully she shuffled over, and using the wall as a support, stood up. Her head still remained disconnected, but from the neck down she seemed intact. She assumed that she was in one of the tiny cells. If so, there was only one way in and one way out. The door. As far as she could recall there had been no other apertures. No windows, for sure. Nothing. Not so much as a rat hole. Logically, the chains at her wrists were attached at the back wall. She gave her right ankle a shake. Her spirits rose a notch. Her feet were free. Good for Morven. Bad for any son of a bitch that got within range.

  It was then that the significance of the phone hit her. God, she should have been born blonde. Almost hyperventilating with excitement she reached around for the mobile. With a few seriously impressive contortions she managed to ease it out of her back pocket. She flipped it open. ‘Shit.’ The phone was maggoty dead. Frustrated, she threw it and heard it smash. She wished it was Calix’s head.